BUT more than any other feeling at
this meeting rose the tide of fellowship
for one another. Maxwell watched it,
trembling for its climax which he knew
was not yet reached. When it was, where
would it lead them? He did not know, but
he was not unduly alarmed about it. Only
he watched with growing wonder the
results of that simple promise as it was
being obeyed in these various lives.
Those results were already being felt
all over the city. Who could measure
their influence at the end of a year?

One practical form of this
fellowship showed itself in the
assurances which Edward Norman received
of support for his paper. There was a
general flocking toward him when the
meeting closed, and the response to his
appeal for help from the Christian
disciples in Raymond was fully
understood by this little company. The
value of such a paper in the homes and
in behalf of good citizenship,
especially at the present crisis in the
city, could not be measured. It remained
to be seen what could be done now that
the paper was endowed so liberally. But
it still was true, as Norman insisted,
that money alone could not make the
paper a power. It must receive the
support and sympathy of the Christians
in Raymond before it could be counted as
one of the great forces of the city.

The week that followed this Sunday
meeting was one of great excitement in
Raymond. It was the week of the
election. President Marsh, true to his
promise, took up his cross and bore it
manfully, but with shuddering, with
groans and even tears, for his deepest
conviction was touched, and he tore
himself out of the scholarly seclusion
of years with a pain and anguish that
cost him more than anything he had ever
done as a follower of Christ. With him
were a few of the college professors who
had made the pledge in the First Church.
Their experience and suffering were the
same as his; for their isolation from
all the duties of citizenship had been
the same. The same was also true of
Henry Maxwell, who plunged into the
horror of this fight against whiskey and
its allies with a sickening dread of
each day's new encounter with it. For
never before had he borne such a cross.
He staggered under it, and in the brief
intervals when he came in from the work
and sought the quiet of his study for
rest, the sweat broke out on his
forehead, and he felt the actual terror
of one who marches into unseen, unknown
horrors. Looking back on it afterwards
he was amazed at his experience. He was
not a coward, but he felt the dread that
any man of his habits feels when
confronted suddenly with a duty which
carries with it the doing of certain
things so unfamiliar that the actual
details connected with it betray his
ignorance and fill him with the shame of
humiliation.

When Saturday, the election day,
came, the excitement rose to its height.
An attempt was made to close all the
saloons. It was only partly successful.
There was a great deal of drinking going
on all day. The Rectangle boiled and
heaved and cursed and turned its worst
side out to the gaze of the city. Gray
had continued his meetings during the
week, and the results had been even
greater than he had dared to hope. When
Saturday came, it seemed to him that the
crisis in his work had been reached. The
Holy Spirit and the Satan of rum seemed
to rouse up to a desperate conflict. The
more interest in the meetings, the more
ferocity and vileness outside. The
saloon men no longer concealed their
feelings. Open threats of violence were
made. Once during the week Gray and his
little company of helpers were assailed
with missiles of various kinds as they
left the tent late at night. The police
sent down a special force, and Virginia
and Rachel were always under the
protection of either Rollin or Dr. West.
Rachel's power in song had not
diminished. Rather, with each night, it
seemed to add to the intensity and
reality of the Spirit's presence.

Gray had at first hesitated about
having a meeting that night. But he had
a simple rule of action, and was always
guided by it. The Spirit seemed to lead
him to continue the meeting, and so
Saturday night he went on as usual.

The excitement all over the city
had reached its climax when the polls
closed at six o'clock. Never before had
there been such a contest in Raymond.
The issue of license or no-license had
never been an issue under such
circumstances. Never before had such
elements in the city been arrayed
against each other. It was an unheard-of
thing that the President of Lincoln
College, the pastor of the First Church,
the Dean of the Cathedral, the
professional men living in fine houses
on the boulevard, should come personally
into the wards, and by their presence
and their example represent the
Christian conscience of the place. The
ward politicians were astonished at the
sight. However, their astonishment did
not prevent their activity. The fight
grew hotter every hour, and when six
o'clock came neither side could have
guessed at the result with any
certainty. Every one agreed that never
before had there been such an election
in Raymond, and both sides awaited the
announcement of the result with the
greatest interest.

It was after ten o'clock when the
meeting at the tent was closed. It had
been a strange and, in some respects, a
remarkable meeting. Maxwell had come
down again at Gray's request. He was
completely worn out by the day's work,
but the appeal from Gray came to him in
such a form that he did not feel able to
resist it. President Marsh was also
present. He had never been to the
Rectangle, and his curiosity was aroused
from what he had noticed of the
influence of the evangelist in the worst
part of the city. Dr. West and Rollin
had come with Rachel and Virginia; and
Loreen, who still stayed with Virginia,
was present near the organ, in her right
mind, sober, with a humility and dread
of herself that kept her as close to
Virginia as a faithful dog. All through
the service she sat with bowed head,
weeping a part of the time, sobbing when
Rachel sang the song, "I was a wandering
sheep," clinging with almost visible,
tangible yearning to the one hope she
had found, listening to prayer and
appeal and confession all about her like
one who was a part of a new creation,
yet fearful of her right to share in it
fully.

The tent had been crowded. As on
some other occasions, there was more or
less disturbance on the outside. This
had increased as the night advanced, and
Gray thought it wise not to prolong the
service.

Once in a while a shout as from a
large crowd swept into the tent. The
returns from the election were beginning
to come in, and the Rectangle had
emptied every lodging house, den and
hovel into the streets.

In spite of these distractions
Rachel's singing kept the crowd in the
tent from dissolving. There were a dozen
or more conversions. Finally the people
became restless and Gray closed the
service, remaining a little while with
the converts.

Rachel, Virginia, Loreen, Rollin
and the Doctor, President Marsh, Mr.
Maxwell and Dr. West went out together,
intending to go down to the usual
waiting place for their car. As they
came out of the tent they were at once
aware that the Rectangle was trembling
on the verge of a drunken riot, and as
they pushed through the gathering mobs
in the narrow streets they began to
realize that they themselves were
objects of great attention.

"There he is -- the bloke in the
tall hat! He's the leader! shouted a
rough voice. President Marsh, with his
erect, commanding figure, was
conspicuous in the little company.

"How has the election gone? It is
too early to know the result yet, isn't
it?" He asked the question aloud, and a
man answered:

"They say second and third wards
have gone almost solid for no-license.
If that is so, the whiskey men have been
beaten."

"Thank God! I hope it is true!"
exclaimed Maxwell. "Marsh, we are in
danger here. Do you realize our
situation? We ought to get the ladies to
a place of safety."

"That is true," said Marsh gravely.
At that moment a shower of stones and
other missiles fell over them. The
narrow street and sidewalk in front of
them was completely choked with the
worst elements of the Rectangle.

"This looks serious," said Maxwell.
With Marsh and Rollin and Dr. West he
started to go forward through a small
opening, Virginia, Rachel, and Loreen
following close and sheltered by the
men, who now realized something of their
danger. The Rectangle was drunk and
enraged. It saw in Marsh and Maxwell two
of the leaders in the election contest
which had perhaps robbed them of their
beloved saloon.

"Down with the aristocrats!"
shouted a shrill voice, more like a
woman's than a man's. A shower of mud
and stones followed. Rachel remembered
afterwards that Rollin jumped directly
in front of her and received on his head
and chest a number of blows that would
probably have struck her if he had not
shielded her from them.

And just then, before the police
reached them, Loreen darted forward in
front of Virginia and pushed her aside,
looking up and screaming. It was so
sudden that no one had time to catch the
face of the one who did it. But out of
the upper window of a room, over the
very saloon where Loreen had come out a
week before, someone had thrown a heavy
bottle. It struck Loreen on the head and
she fell to the ground. Virginia turned
and instantly kneeled down by her. The
police officers by that time had reached
the little company.

President Marsh raised his arm and
shouted over the howl that was beginning
to rise from the wild beast in the mob.

"Is it true?" Maxwell asked it, as
Dr. West kneeled on the other side of
Loreen, supporting her.

"She's dying!" said Dr. West
briefly.

Loreen opened her eyes and smiled
at Virginia, who wiped the blood from
her face and then bent over and kissed
her. Loreen smiled again, and the next
minute her soul was in Paradise.

And yet this is only one woman out
of thousands killed by this drink evil.
Crowd back, now, ye sinful men and women
in this filthy street! Let this august
dead form be borne through your
stupefied, sobered ranks! She was one of
your own children. The Rectangle had
stamped the image of the beast on her.
Thank Him who died for sinners that the
other image of a new soul now shines out
of her pale clay. Crowd back! Give them
room! Let her pass reverently, followed
and surrounded by the weeping, awestruck
company of Christians. Ye killed her, ye
drunken murderers! And yet -- and yet --
O Christian America, who killed this
woman? Stand back! Silence, there! A
woman has been killed. Who? Loreen.
Child of the streets. Poor, drunken,
vile sinner. O Lord God, how long, how
long? Yes. The saloon killed her; that
is, the Christians of America, who
license the saloon. And the Judgment Day
only shall declare who was the murderer
of Loreen.